


Routine

by durgasdragon



Category: Samurai Champloo
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-20
Updated: 2011-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-14 22:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/durgasdragon/pseuds/durgasdragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning ritual might need some adjusting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Routine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Strailo](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Strailo).



  
  
**Routine**   
  


_Disclaimer: This is a purely fan-made piece that is using the world and characters from Shinichirō Watanabe’s_ Samurai Champloo _and is made entirely for enjoyment. No financial gain has been made in the making of this piece_

 _Summary: The morning ritual might need some adjusting._

 _Author’s Note: Written for Strailo. Possible out-of characterness, smut, and lots of foul language. Apologising now if I offend anyone!_

 _Constructive Criticism is always welcomed_

 _Published: 26 December 2009_

 _Rating: NC-17_

Mugen would never admit it—even on the pains of death—but watching Jin going through his morning katas and routine was like watching porn. Really, really, really ritualised and strange porn, but porn, nevertheless.

It probably had to do with the fact he usually did it topless.

Not that Mugen ever watched or cared or noticed or anything.

He just thought it was funny how the old prude could go out and get every dirty old man and every girl hot under the collar and dripping below the waist by stripping off a piece of clothing and—despite his so-called distaste—the guy did it absolutely _every_ morning.

Mugen was beginning to think the guy was an exhibitionist or something.

Ah, well. What the prig of a ronin did in his spare time was no concern of Mugen’s. If nothing else, he was getting a free show every morning, if he felt like getting up (if they were in an inn) or rolling over (if they were roughing it).

Mugen adjusted himself and stuck his littlest finger into his ear to clean it out, a picture of casual laziness as Mr Tightass rinsed off his sweat. The water droplets clung to the lean pale muscles and _damn_ did prissy-pants look good wet.

Jin gave Mugen a distasteful look as he crossed the courtyard back to the inn. “Are you going to insist on bringing your disgusting habits with you every morning you watch me?”

Mugen picked something out of his teeth. “Yeah.”

Thin eyebrows twitched downwards, pinching the forehead slightly. Jin was never one for expressing things with his face other than distaste and disinterest, but Mugen had started to get the whole provoking thing down to an art; forcing Jin’s slender face to show more emotions took some effort, but he could now get annoyance, anger, disgust, and grudging respect to all make an appearance.

“Uncultured monkey,” Jin muttered.

“Got sumthin’ ta say to me, pretty boy?”

“I called you an uncultured monkey, but I think I should reconsider that. Monkeys occasionally groom themselves.”

Mugen flicked his sword in the ronin’s general direction. “That’s gonna cost you your smallest fingers.”

Another haughty glare. “You couldn’t even take money from a dead man.”

“You’d prob’ly try ta ask him if it was okay first.”

The exchange of words was slowly becoming a morning ritual, almost as much as watching Jin going through those silly katas. They would insult each other and words would lead to a swords clashing and Fuu waking up and shrieking that they were still under her command and they should _stop right now_!

The morning fights were almost as good as a morning wank, Mugen had decided.

And there was always the added bonus that Jin usually didn’t bother with getting fully dressed before attacking.

Yeah, it was a good way to start the day.

This particular morning they ended up with one of Mugen’s geta braced in Jin’s firm stomach and Jin’s wakizabi stabbing holes into Mugen’s coat and shirt, scraping his side threateningly.

“Do you…do you surrender?” Jin’s breath was heavy and slightly laboured from the morning exertion.

“What, pretty boy, givin’ up already?” Mugen wheezed, ignoring the fact that he was breathing hard for more reasons than just fighting.

Dark eyes narrowed further. “I was…giving you a chance to die honourably.”

“Who wants ta be _honourable_?” Mugen surged forwards slightly and pulled a fast one, slanting his mouth over Jin’s tight one.

The ronin yanked back violently, almost stumbling.

Mugen pressed his advantage and swung forwards haphazardly. Jin responded almost too late and he had a few more close calls before he started to return to the rhythm of the fight.

Mugen—later, when he looked back on it—would notice that something shifted in that fight. Something nebulous and subtle in the attitude had occurred.

He would only come to that realisation later—at the moment, he had to be much more concerned with the fact that Jin had just shredded his jacket and ripped a few new holes in his shirt.

In revenge, Mugen went for the ties on those skinny hips that held the hakama up.

“STOP! STOP! What are you two DOING?!” Fuu’s strident voice rang out. When they didn’t immediately stop, she resorted to throwing fermenting plums at them from the tree in the corner of the yard.

“No fighting! You still owe me, so no fighting!” The girl danced in aggravation.

The innkeeper descended on them, eyes flaming. “Look it this mess!” He screeched, drowning out Fuu.

“Ah, well—” she tried to explain, but didn’t get anything more out because the innkeeper wouldn’t let her finish. He ranted and raved and waved his thick arms around wildly.

Jin, in the meantime, was looking disgruntled as he held his hakama up. Mugen was pleased to note that while he didn’t get close enough to actually cut the ties, he had definitely done some damage to them and minimal damage to those pasty tiny hips. The hakama was only being held up by one side and a thread on the other. If Mugen was really looking, he might have been able to see the top of the fundoshi that Jin wore.

“And _you_!” The innkeeper spun and pointed accusingly at Mugen. “Starting fights here! You nearly destroyed my water jugs, you good for nothing!”

Fuu jumped in before Mugen could say anything. “We’ll clean it up; I promise. It’ll look as good as new by the time we’re done! Better!”

The beady little eyes glared at the two of them—Jin had slipped inside when the man had started his tirade against Mugen—and he scowled. “This place had BETTER be sparkling by the time I come back out here at noon!” He snarled. “Or else I’ll get the authorities here!” He clomped off.

Fuu glared at him.

Mugen flicked a particularly annoying booger in the retreating innkeeper’s mass.

When Jin came back out, Fuu made him start scrubbing the worn flagstones on the other side of the courtyard from Mugen. She muttered the entire time, alternately throwing glares at them.

Jin looked stupid, down on his knees and trying to get up stains from previous centuries. It amused Mugen to no end and—just because he could—he threw innuendo and insults at the ronin at random intervals.

He smirked slightly to himself as one piece of double entendre about kissing made those pale cheeks flush slightly. He had learned the mouth-to-mouth thing from a prostitute during his pirating days; apparently, she was correct about the erotic power it held over other people, particularly over the ‘higher’ class.

He bet that Jin had never had his lips ever touched by another pair, and that made Mugen all the more in control of the situation.

He gloried in the moment.

Later that afternoon, after they had cleaned the pathetic courtyard better than it had ever been cleaned in its entire existence and Fuu reluctantly went off to waitress at the nearby restaurant, Mugen wandered in to the forest behind the inn. He didn’t want to see the inn any more than he had to at this point, and he couldn’t find that prat to annoy, so the only thing to do was to find a nice shady spot to nap in.

He stepped into a clearing and there was the priggish asshole, doing his little erotic routine.

He had his gi on this time, though.

Pity.

Jin spun in a smooth arc, arm coming down in the ritualised block—at least, that’s what Mugen assumed it was. It wouldn’t be much use in a real fight.

The ronin paused slightly when he saw Mugen causally standing next to a tree. “Don’t you have somewhere better to be?”

“Nope.”

He finished the kata and glared.

“Lookit these holes.” Mugen poked his hand through a shredded section of his shirt. “You ruined my shirt. It was my favourite one.”

A thin eyebrow arched. “You mean the one that you scorched trying to put out a fire last week? And spilled miso soup on yesterday? Threw in the pig shed earlier—”

“It’s my favourite because it has a history or character or whatever that shit is called. You owe me a new one.”

“If I see any dirty rags horrid enough to be wore by you, I’ll get it for you.”

A few more well-placed insults, and the two were fighting again, blades out and foliage damaged.

This time the stand-still happened when Jin got his blade stuck in a tree, right next to Mugen’s throat and Mugen had his sword jammed up between them.

The moment was eerily similar to the morning’s fight and the air was suddenly thick.

This time, it seemed like Jin was going to try to be the one to throw things off and his mouth awkwardly came down on top of Mugen’s.

It was painfully obvious that Jin had little to no idea as to what he was doing. And there was no way that Mugen was going to let the bastard control things like that.

He pushed forwards and nearly upset the taller man, but Jin regained his footing quickly and knocked them both to the ground, letting go of his sword and bumping Mugen’s off to the side.

Mugen tried to roll them so he was on top, but all it did was bring his hips up and into Jin’s stomach.

Which wasn’t necessarily a _bad_ thing. Especially when that prim mercenary made some not-so-prim noises and opened his mouth in surprise.

Mugen was okay with controlling things from the bottom. And since he knew how to use his tongue, it wasn’t hard to dominate the kiss from the position that he was in.

Jin fought back by pinning the tattoo wrists above Mugen’s shaggy head and biting the invading tongue.

A parry and another hip roll—he _knew_ that Jin had a sexuality under that that little ‘I’m-just-a-prissy-pretty-boy’ attitude—and Mugen was back in the fight. He worked a leg free, shook off a geta, and used his leg to get some leverage.

Jin shifted his grip so both wrists could be contained by one slim hand and used the free one to rake his nails down Mugen’s side and up under the tatted shirt.

Mugen licked the back of Jin’s teeth and tightened his leg over a bony hip.

Jin pressed his erection further between Mugen’s thighs and scraped a nipple.

Things were starting to narrow down to a few key points—things like where Jin’s lean body crushed down, the messy mingling of lips, teeth, and tongues, that surprisingly adventurous hand, the heat in their groins that was getting hotter with each cloth-covered thrust—and Mugen wasn’t going to lose focus by himself. If he was going to have a little death, the ronin had damn well be following him into the afterlife.

He thrust up harder, grinding, and renewed his attack on Jin’s mouth. He used his leg to force Jin to match his rhythm. He still couldn’t get his wrists free, so he would have to do without them.

Next time. Next time, he was going to pin Jin to the floor and show him what hands could _really_ do.

Abruptly, Jin yanked his mouth away and buried his face in Mugen’s throat, crying out softly as his hips jerked and stuttered.

The smell of hair and sweat and _Jin_ hit the former criminal’s nose and Mugen’s back arched sharply. He slammed into ecstasy and surged forwards, teeth snapping.

Neither man moved as they returned from the high. Jin’s hot pants puffed over the base of Mugen’s neck while Mugen slide his arms out of the lax grip.

“Uncultured swine,” Jin finally muttered, not moving. “You didn’t have the decency to let me remove my hakama so it would not get stained.”

“’Snot like you let me get out of _my_ pants, fucker.”

“You’re used to living in your own swill. It’s not the same for you.”

“Eat shit, candy ass.”

Jin smirked coldly and adjusted his glasses. “I’d be more worried about the future state of _your_ ass, if I were you.”

Mugen snorted. “You ain’t man enough to take me.”

A single eyebrow arched. “You seem terribly confident.”

Before Mugen could gather his wits properly, Jin yanked the coat and shirt up and around Mugen’s arms. As Mugen kicked out, he felt the weight on top of him shift—

 _Shit_. The _thud_ of Mugen’s sword as it stabbed the cloth into the ground rang out.

“Asshole!” Mugen spat out, breathing hard, currently unable to untangle his arm.

“Do you wish to reconsider your earlier comments?” Jin asked, a little too silkily.

It was the pinned man who smirked this time. “Fucker,” he taunted.

Jin’s eyes gleamed. “I knew you would need it beaten into you.”

“You couldn’t beat a butterfly.” Mugen continued the jeering remarks, ignoring the fire in his veins. Perhaps if he pushed the right buttons hard enough, he could find out just how good the other man was.

As Jin leaned over him, Mugen began to plot how this might become part of the morning ritual.

  
_x Fin x_   



End file.
